


Breaking the Bank

by annejumps



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Awkwardness, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Misunderstanding, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur had been in his new apartment in Milan for about a month before he called Eames to come visit him.</p><p>“Your apartment, Arthur?” Eames had said, sounding surprised, the noise of a bustling market in the background. “Not a hotel, your actual dwelling?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking the Bank

**Author's Note:**

> A relatively fluffy sequel to [Seven Come Eleven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/442618/).

Arthur had been in his new apartment in Milan for about a month before he called Eames to come visit him.

“Your apartment, Arthur?” Eames had said, sounding surprised, the noise of a bustling market in the background. “Not a hotel, your actual dwelling?”

Two days later, Eames arrived, dressed for Milan, of course, canny chameleon that he was. Together, walking along the sidewalks with the other fashionable people, they looked like quite the couple, an impression Arthur found confirmed in the approving glances of those they passed on the street.

Arthur loved Milan.

Eames was obviously very curious about Arthur’s apartment, taking in every detail that he could with his sharp eyes. It was small, but neat and cozy. Arthur had decorated it with some choice pieces.

“Lovely flat,” Eames remarked, strolling with his hands in his pockets toward the open French doors to the balcony, which was trimmed with trailing vines and flower boxes.

Arthur followed him into the sunlight and the breeze, smiling. He shrugged. “It’s not a primary residence or anything, but I’ve wanted to live here for a long time.” Eames was leaning against the railing to look out over the cobblestone street below, and Arthur joined him, pressing their shoulders together. They were quiet for a moment.

Eames turned to him with a small but wicked smile, and arched his left eyebrow. “Did you ask me here to christen it?”

\-------

They fell asleep tangled in the sheets sometime around midnight, Arthur with an arm flung over Eames’ middle. He usually woke up first, and now, as dawn broke and the city started to rouse itself, took some time to lie there and contemplate Eames, flushed with sleep, naked and relaxed. Well, that wasn’t entirely true: in sleep, his mouth took on a considering pout and his brow furrowed just slightly, as though his brilliant mind was working away in his dreams. Which it probably was. If he still had natural dreams. Arthur had never asked.

Eames had to be tired from his flight; even if he wasn’t, Arthur wanted to let him sleep. They’d go get coffee later. He thought of being out with Eames in public, not worrying about a job, just walking around together like any other couple.

Any other couple.

There was that word again. They never referred to themselves as a couple or said they were together. Of course, in their business they did their best to prevent anyone from knowing they even slept together. But still, Arthur always had a nagging feeling that people could look at them and tell -- could see that he looked at Eames too long, that Eames’ teasing was more than what it might seem.

 _Two people walking down the street together technically constitute a couple_ , he told himself, but it didn’t do much to alleviate his discomfort.

\-------

Over cappuccino and pastries at the pasticceria, Eames said lightly, “You know, Arthur, it hasn’t escaped me that this is the first time you’ve invited me to one of your actual homes.”

Arthur took a sip of his drink, and shrugged. “Well. This is where I am right now, and I... wanted to see you.”

Eames nodded, looking thoughtful, and took a bite of his pastry. He ate it delicately, licking crumbs discreetly from his fingertips, and Arthur couldn’t help watching.

“Did you miss me?” Eames said abruptly, quiet, looking at Arthur and then back to his plate, as if suddenly distracted by another confection. For all some people in dreamshare had an impression of Eames as always brash and flirtatious, Arthur had found that Eames was actually quite subdued, even shy at times.

“I did,” Arthur admitted with a nod, cutting a bite of his fruit tart and just catching a small smile on Eames’ face. There was a beat as Eames concentrated on breaking apart the warm, flaky dough before taking a bite.

“Did you miss _me_?” Arthur asked, smiling, watching him.

“Of course,” Eames said simply. “It’s been months since the Fischer job, that was the last I’d heard from you, other than the time you called me from Corfu.”

“I’ve been busy,” Arthur replied.

“I have as well,” Eames answered, but Arthur knew that. They’d both had an unsurprising uptick in the number of jobs they were asked to join in on as well as an increase in their fees.

Eames cleared his throat. “I was surprised I didn’t hear from you earlier, though,” he said.

“You could’ve called me,” Arthur pointed out. “You know how to reach me. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Yes, well.” Eames shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You wouldn’t disturb me,” Arthur said, shaking his head. He had wondered before why it was always him contacting Eames. For years now, Arthur had kept tabs on him, called him when they were more or less near each other, and initiated their meeting up. Okay, sometimes he’d demanded it. Apparently Eames had gotten used to it being that way, had taken it for granted. “You can always contact me. For anything,” he continued, and Eames nodded, shoulders relaxing a bit.

They went back to his apartment after breakfast, and to Arthur’s surprise Eames cupped his elbows as soon as Arthur closed the door, turned him to press his back against it, and kissed him soundly, tasting like sugar and coffee. Arthur immediately pulled Eames to him, hands resting at the small of his back. There was an unusual urgency in the hitch of Eames’ breath, but his kiss was thorough, searching, and Arthur responded in kind.

He was surprised when Eames abruptly broke the kiss and sank to his knees, fingers going for Arthur’s fly, undoing it with practiced ease and tugging his pants down his hips just a bit. He pulled down his underwear just enough to expose Arthur’s rapidly hardening cock, and gave him a few appreciative licks before taking him in.

It had been too long. Arthur shuddered, the back of his head gently hitting the door as he tilted it back, closing his eyes. “God,” he moaned. “Eames.”

Eames hummed around him, and Arthur quivered, a sound caught in his throat.

He came with what should have been embarrassing swiftness. Eames mouthed at his spent, softening cock until Arthur, oversensitive, sank to the floor to clutch at Eames and kiss him, catching his moans as he reached fumbling fingers into his underwear and squeezed and stroked him. Eames fell against him with shaky breaths, panting. Disheveled, they held each other upright, Arthur dotting Eames’ flushed cheeks with brief, soothing kisses.

They stripped out of their clothes so Arthur could dab cold water on Eames’ come-stained pants, and Eames blamed the sight of Arthur naked at the sink for his interrupting the stain-removal attempts with kisses to the back of Arthur’s neck and hands squeezing his ass. Naturally, stain-removal was abandoned for the time being in favor of gropes and kisses on Arthur’s bed until they were both hard again.

On all fours, with Eames nudging his prostate at every stroke, Arthur closed his eyes against the sunlight streaming in from the tall windows and smiled.

He was still smiling after they’d come again, and as Eames flopped back onto the bed with a grunt he dropped onto his side and rolled over to stretch out over Eames.

“Mm, what’re you so happy about.” Eames idly stroked his fingers over Arthur’s back.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Arthur replied, drowsily. Eames was quiet for a moment, and then hummed.

Arthur cleaned up and they napped, and after a while Arthur got up to put on his underwear and get some things done. Eames protested briefly, trying to keep him in bed, but he eventually went back to sleep for a while. Arthur woke him to get dressed for lunch.

Eames’ hand hovered near his own or at the small of his back as they walked to the restaurant. The sky seemed unbearably, gorgeously blue and the food was so delicious it was almost distressing; Arthur was ravenously hungry and it seemed like he’d never be sated. Under the small table, Eames’ foot pressed against his own. Arthur rubbed the toe of his shoe against Eames’ arch in a gentle rhythm, acutely aware of their only point of contact.

Once the stores reopened after lunch, they spent the afternoon roaming the Quadrilatero d'Oro and shopping, mostly for Eames, who never knew when he might need a certain look. Arthur was only too happy to help him. Eames was gorgeous, and when he wanted to, he could look like an honest-to-God model. Some of the shop employees seemed to take him as one. Still, Arthur was used to Eames being in vintage cuts and period patterns; it was strange seeing him in high fashion.

Back at the apartment, after they sorted through the purchases, they sat out on the balcony and smoked in their undershirts and sock feet, Arthur having changed into his jeans. He didn’t think Eames owned jeans at all. They talked about jobs they’d been on recently, and when a pause came up in conversation Eames glanced at him and asked, “Arthur, how long am I here?”

Arthur exhaled, considering. “As long as you like.” Eames just hummed, and nodded.

They went to dinner, and to drinks afterward at Arthur’s suggestion. Arthur came back from the restroom to find a man flirting with Eames, who was smiling politely. Arthur sat down again, close to Eames, folding his arms and giving the man a very direct look. The man stammered, made his excuses, and eventually left. Eames looked wryly amused the rest of the evening.

Walking back to his apartment that night, Arthur hooked his arm in Eames’; Eames startled, then shifted to take his hand, interlacing their fingers. It was perhaps a little ridiculous that Arthur started to get hard at just that simple touch.

“Can I fuck you?” Arthur asked when they got back to his bedroom and were divesting each other of their clothes.

It hadn’t happened often before, and when it had, Arthur had usually had a few, making him feel extravagant. He knew Eames didn’t do this often for anyone, but for Arthur, at least, he showed a different side of himself: his gasps were more urgent, his face got more flushed, and his infamous silver tongue temporarily abandoned him, leaving able to do little more than say Arthur’s name.

“Can’t we stay in today, Arthur?” Eames said drowsily the next morning. Arthur went to go make coffee, put the kettle on, and start making waffles. They had breakfast on the balcony, in their robes.

It was idyllic. Arthur was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You can stay here as long as you like, Eames,” he said, sipping his coffee, “but are you going to?”

Eames glanced at him over his teacup and shrugged. “Do you want me to?”

“I said you could, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Eames acknowledged, “but if you’ll forgive me, I’m far more used to two days at most in your hotel rooms.”

“And I’m saying you can have more than that. If you want it.” He set down his cup.

“Why wouldn’t I want it?” Looking out over the street, Eames squinted in the light.

“Will you stop with the rhetorical questions?”

Eames took a long drink of tea. “I don’t know. Will I?”

“Eames, come on.”

He sighed. “All right, Arthur.” But he didn’t seem to be confirming anything. Arthur decided not to press it any further this morning. If Eames didn’t want to stay here and couldn’t say so directly, then that was that. He was trying to let Arthur down easy. Arthur tracking him down and calling him up for no-strings-attached sex had been working out pretty well for him, after all.

Per Eames’ request, they spent the rest of the day in the apartment. Arthur read the paper while Eames showered, and vice versa; they watched a movie, and Arthur made sandwiches for lunch. It was nice, but undeniably subdued after their awkward conversation that morning.

Arthur went down to the market that evening to get ingredients for dinner. When he got back, Eames was gone.

After he’d searched the apartment and found no sign of Eames, he tried to stave off uncharacteristic panic, and made a list in his head. Eames didn’t always carry his cellphone. There were no signs of forced entry, but someone could have gotten Eames to leave without making a fuss. Arthur had been gone for half an hour; if Eames had been taken, he could be anywhere by now.

Arthur dug out his cellphone and dialed Eames’ number.

It rang five times, and the stretch of time between rings felt enormous.

“What is it, darling? I’ve just popped ‘round to the pasticceria for some of those cakes, I thought I’d have time before you got back.”

Arthur sighed, closing his eyes. “Jesus, Eames. Don’t do that again.”

“Did I worry you?” Eames sounded delighted. “Were you picturing me bound and gagged in the back of a van?”

“Just--”

“Were you going to come after me, guns drawn, hell bent for leather?”

“Just get back here.” He toed off his shoes, stumbling a bit in his relief.

“On my way, love.”

Eames arrived with dessert, and was barely contrite at Arthur’s stern expression and crossed arms. “I can take care of myself, Arthur, you know,” he admonished gently.

“That’s not the point.” Eames kissed his nose. “I’m serious, Eames.”

“I’m sure you are, darling. Why don’t you get started cooking and we’ll talk about it later.”

“I want to talk about it now.”

Eames paused in his unpacking of the market bags. “I don’t understand, Arthur. I, who can defend myself, was not kidnapped at gunpoint. I was merely obtaining dessert for your dinner. Unless you plan to fit me with a GPS device, I’m unsure where you’re going with this.”

“That’s not....” Arthur sighed, lacing his hands behind his neck. “I just... okay. When I got here, and you were gone, I... freaked out.”

“That’s not like you,” Eames chided, but gently.

“I know, I know.” Arthur sighed again and Eames stepped in to kiss him, and pull him close. Arthur stopped short.

“Eames, wait. Wait,” Arthur said, hands moving to Eames’ shoulders, firmly pushing at him. Startled, Eames backed off, and opened his mouth to speak. Arthur cut him off. “Eames, I can’t do this anymore.”

Eames started to speak again, and Arthur rushed to continue. “I can’t, Eames.”

Arthur caught Eames’ little intake of breath, and the alarm that flashed in his eyes. “Arthur. What do you mean,” Eames said in his _I’m trying to keep everyone calm_ voice.

Arthur swallowed. “I can’t keep meeting up with you for a few days every so often only because I’ve called you.” He gripped the counter behind himself on either side. “I can’t keep being your diversion anymore.”

“My diversion?” Eames said in disbelief. “Who’s been phoning whom at his leisure?”

“Because you didn’t call me! We went over this.”

“Right, and before then how was I to’ve known you wanted me to call you?”

“I thought you did know and you just weren’t!”

“Well, I didn’t know.”

“Okay, irregardless, I’m not satisfied with this.”

“Right, so you want to end it.” Eames was looking at the floor, mouth set, eyes hard.

Taken aback at hearing it stated, Arthur straightened. “No. No, I don’t.”

Eames looked at him, cautious and surprised.

Arthur continued, raising his chin just slightly. “I want more. If you want to give it.” He kept Eames’ gaze.

Eames laughed shortly, and shook his head. Arthur’s heart jerked in his chest. “If I -- Arthur, for the better part of a decade I’ve wanted to give you everything you could ask of me.”

Arthur stared. “Don’t tell me you’ve been pining for me.”

“Not exactly, no. I’ve been taking what I could get. You never said you wanted more, so I adapted.” Eames bit his lip, rubbing the back of his neck.

Arthur offered his hands in a shrug, frank. “I didn’t know there was more to have.”

“We’ve established that there is. Now, Arthur, I’ve got to know if I can expect the same from you. I don’t want to be simply your diversion, either.” Eames put his hands on his hips.

“You won’t be. You aren’t.”

They stared at each other.

“There’s no one else,” Arthur added.

Eames nodded briefly, and waited a beat before saying quietly, “Likewise.”

They were silent. Eames shifted to lean back against the counter and folded his arms.

“So. So what changes now?” Arthur asked.

One ankle crossed over the other, Eames looked at his shoes, speaking quietly, as if half to himself. Arthur drank in the sight of him, the soft musing tone of his voice.

“I'm not sure if it made it easier or harder to go so long without you when we weren't... officially involved,” Eames said. “When I could tell myself we were just meeting up casually I didn't let myself concentrate on how much I missed you when we were apart. I didn't feel like I was supposed to. If we're... together, I'm going to miss you more.”

He looked up at Arthur. “Will we really see each other that much more often? Will we demand to take the same jobs? Will we let people know what we are to each other? I know you don't want to retire, you love this work.”

“So do you.”

Eames hummed in agreement. “Right, but I’d leave it. If....” He shrugged.

Arthur sighed. "It won't be easy. But... I think I'm okay with that, if you are. For now. Things will change. We can take fewer jobs. We can retire, eventually. I just... I want to legitimize this."

Regarding him, Eames laughed softly. "All right, Arthur. Come here." He held out his arms.

Arthur walked into Eames' embrace and held on tightly. He felt Eames relax into him, gradually. Arthur leaned against him in turn, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne.

“I almost can’t believe this,” Eames remarked in a low voice, breath warm against Arthur’s neck. “It seems too good to be true. Perhaps this is your idea of an elaborate prank.”

“I’m not imaginative enough for pranks that last for almost ten years,” Arthur said, dry.

“Mm. Or patient enough,” Eames added. “Ah, we’re talking nonsense.” He shifted back and took hold of Arthur’s chin. His eyes looked greener in this light. Eames opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

“It won’t be easy,” Arthur said again.

“I know. I don’t care,” Eames replied. He was gazing at Arthur with sober focus that should have been unsettling, but wasn’t. That quiet, intelligent regard seemed to look right into him, and it was so _Eames_ that he felt lightheaded for a moment.

“I love you,” Arthur said abruptly, and Eames gave a short, shocked bark of a laugh, brow raising in surprise.

“Darling, you’re going to give me a cardiac arrest. Too much good news at once.”

Arthur leaned in to kiss him, to press his entire body against Eames’. It was a slow, gentle kiss, but Eames’ breaths were a bit shaky, and his hands, where they’d moved to Arthur’s jaw, were trembling just slightly.

Some long moments later, they stopped. “We’ll drive each other mad,” Eames whispered, a laugh caught in his low voice.

“We already have been,” Arthur pointed out, with a brief shrug.

“And you know I wouldn’t put up with all your nonsense if I didn’t love you as well.”

“Obviously,” Arthur said, and now it did seem obvious. It all seemed really obvious. “God, we’re morons.”

“That’s a tad harsh.”

“It’s true.”

“Well, however much it may be true, there’s no sense in castigating ourselves over past mistakes when we could be,” Eames slid his hands down to cup Arthur’s ass in a decidedly possessive gesture, “more productively using our time.”

“What, by making dinner?”

“If that’s what we’re calling it now, certainly.” With unmistakable purpose, Eames pulled Arthur against him.

Arthur affected a grave expression and tone. “Shouldn’t we put away the groceries first?”

“No, we shouldn’t,” Eames declared, almost picking Arthur up bodily to grind against him.

Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames’ neck. “Okay, but if any of it goes bad, you’re buying more,” and Arthur held on for dear life as he was suddenly and swiftly carried the short distance to the bedroom. The moment he was deposited on the bed, he struggled to hastily undo his fly as Eames pulled his khakis off.

Arthur still had on his socks, and his white undershirt was rucked up under his armpits as Eames, who unfortunately was still mostly dressed, fucked him with such vigor that his head nearly slipped off the bed.

\-------

Arthur drummed his heels on the bed. “Eames, please.”

Eames looked up from where he was watching the head of his own cock teasing at Arthur’s hole. Arthur was out of patience. “ _Please_ ,” he said again. “I haven’t seen you in six weeks. I can’t wait any longer.”

“Oh, kitten.” Eames sank into him and Arthur exhaled in a long shuddering sigh. He wrapped himself around Eames, who bent to kiss him, messy and fond.

They were both a little bit drunk.

“I missed you so much, love,” Eames said. “I was going mad. All I could think was that it had been a year since you first asked me here.”

“I missed you too, but we both were on good-paying jobs,” Arthur said in as reasonable a tone as possible while Eames sucked at his earlobe. He shuddered bodily.

“Mine would have been better with you on it,” Eames said, and nipped at his jaw.

“Likewise. Maybe Crenshaw wouldn’t have gotten stabbed.”

“Christ, I missed you so much. Don’t let’s be apart for such a long time ever again.” Eames’ kisses tasted like the Valtellina Superiore wine Arthur had procured for the occasion of his return. Arthur smoothed his palms down Eames’ muscled back, trying to soothe him, getting distracted and digging his nails in when Eames started fucking him harder.

He hadn’t let himself dwell on how much he’d missed Eames as long as Eames was away, deciding it made more sense to concentrate on his own jobs, but now that he was here, everything he’d been trying not to think about came back to him. How fretful he’d felt deep down without Eames, how often he’d found himself thinking about him. Worried about something happening to him.

But nothing had, and Eames was back again, where he belonged.

He broke the kiss to breathe “You’re right, let’s not be apart that long again if we can help it.”

“Mm, yes.” Eames kissed the corner of his mouth, distracted as he got closer but managing to say “Knew you’d see reason.”

Arthur moved one hand to take hold of his cock, rolling his hips as he did. “This is a lot better than the last six weeks of jerking off I’d been doing.”

Eames laughed, breathless. “Happy to help, my treasure. My succulent little peach.”

Snickering as he blushed, Arthur narrowed his eyes skeptically. “That’s new. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“I’m not, I’m just terribly, terribly happy and I’m about to come.”

“Coincidentally, so’m I,” Arthur gasped, smiling.

“Together, then,” Eames suggested, and he really was close, his skin flushed and his breath hitching. “Together, always.”

“You sap,” Arthur accused, heart leaping in his chest. The desperate movements of Eames’ hips and the groans caught in his throat urged Arthur into stroking himself with a tighter, faster grip, and he came on his stomach as he felt Eames shudder above him.

\-------

“No, no, that’s him over there, in the quite small black swimming trunks.”

Arthur looked up. Eames was walking toward him and talking with a pair of very blonde women in very small bikinis, nothing unusual for the beach at Monte Carlo.

“All right, I’m terribly sorry but I’m overdue for another application of sunscreen from my doting husband,” Eames said, “if you’ll excuse me, ladies.”

Arthur waited for Eames to stretch out on the towel next to him, and put down his book. “Are you telling literally everyone you see that we’re married?”

“It’s our honeymoon, can you blame me? And they were offering to help me find you.”

Arthur tilted his face up for a kiss. “I’m sure. How’d you do at the tables?”

“Quite well. I’d almost say this ring might be my new good luck charm. Winnings are securely in the safe, by the way, since I know you were going to ask even though that should be perfectly obvious.”

Arthur ignored that last part. “Good. We did come here for you.”

“I’m grateful for your sacrifice.” Eames turned to lay on his stomach. “I do need more sunscreen, actually, if you’d be a dear and oblige.”

Arthur sighed, grinning, and picked up the bottle. “If I must.”

Eames relaxed under the touch of his hands. “You’re too good to me,” he said, voice muffled.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, now. I’m next.”

“Mm, I’ll fall asleep on you later tonight then, shall I.”

“Promises, promises.” Once done, Arthur capped the bottle and handed it to Eames, who sat up with a groan.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Eames mock-groused.

“I am,” Arthur replied with a smile, leaning in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Liz, [Amy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asunder/pseuds/asunder), and Julia for all your help!
> 
> Yes, Arthur uses "irregardless." Forgive me; it was just too apt.


End file.
